Karl Marx & The Jewish Conception of Work

Man is born to toil. ~Job 5:7

All man's toil is for his mouth. ~Ecclesiastes 6:7

ט לַעֲשׂוֹת-רְצוֹנְךָ אֱלֹהַי חָפָצְתִּי; וְתוֹרָתְךָ, בְּתוֹךְ מֵעָי 9 I delight to do Thy will, O my God; yea, Thy law is in my inmost parts.' ~Psalms 40:9

~

In "Estranged Labor," Marx observes:

What constitutes the alienation of labour?

Firstly, the fact that labour is external to the worker – i.e., does not belong to his essential being; that he, therefore, does not confirm himself in his work, but denies himself, feels miserable and not happy, does not develop free mental and physical energy, but mortifies his flesh and ruins his mind. Hence, the worker feels himself only when he is not working; when he is working, he does not feel himself. He is at home when he is not working, and not at home when he is working. His labour is, therefore, not voluntary but forced, it is forced labour. It is, therefore, not the satisfaction of a need but a mere means to satisfy needs outside itself. Its alien character is clearly demonstrated by the fact that as soon as no physical or other compulsion exists, it is shunned like the plague. External labour, labour in which man alienates himself, is a labour of self-sacrifice, of mortification. Finally, the external character of labour for the worker is demonstrated by the fact that it belongs not to him but to another, and that in it he belongs not to himself but to another. Just as in religion the spontaneous activity of the human imagination, the human brain, and the human heart, detaches itself from the individual and reappears as the alien activity of a god or of a devil, so the activity of the worker is not his own spontaneous activity. It belongs to another, it is a loss of his self.

The result is that man (the worker) feels that he is acting freely only in his animal functions – eating, drinking, and procreating, or at most in his dwelling and adornment – while in his human functions, he is nothing more than animal.

It is true that eating, drinking, and procreating, etc., are also genuine human functions. However, when abstracted from other aspects of human activity, and turned into final and exclusive ends, they are animal.

Marx is also of the opinion that this estranged labor occurs when one works for the 'other'- other than oneself. In this category he includes other men but also God.

All these consequences are contained in this characteristic, that the worker is related to the product of labour as to an alien object. For it is clear that, according to this premise, the more the worker exerts himself in his work, the more powerful the alien, objective world becomes which he brings into being over against himself, the poorer he and his inner world become, and the less they belong to him. It is the same in religion. The more man puts into God, the less he retains within himself. The worker places his life in the object; but now it no longer belongs to him, but to the object. The greater his activity, therefore, the fewer objects the worker possesses. What the product of his labour is, he is not. Therefore, the greater this product, the less is he himself.

What's fascinating is that Marx is completely right. But that is precisely why work in the way he defines it is not the way we see work in Judaism.

From his inception, man is created in the image of God. Thus, for him to work and to serve God is to strive to gratify himself and to fulfill himself as that image of God. Rather than being estranged from his labor and feeling that "the more man puts into God, the less he retains within himself" it is precisely the opposite. The more man puts into God, the more he is himself. For man carries a piece of God within himself; it is the soul. The more we toil, the happier we are- whether that be toiling in Torah or in this physical world- because ideally that is a fulfillment of who we are meant to be as people. (Obviously, if you are working at a job you hate, you are fulfilling Marx's vision of the world.)

In Psalms 40:9 we state that we delight to do God's will; His law is in our inmost parts. Thus, the law is natural to us. It is within us, inside us, a part of us. In various other places we declare that we wish our will to be like God's will. Why, you ask? For precisely the reason that Marx is delineating. If the law is part of us then we will not be alienated from it. There will be no such thing as the 'alienation of labor' for what we are laboring for will be part and parcel of what is our inmost and utmost expression of self. To serve God and to labor in His work is who we actually are; it is a fulfillment of the self. This is why we pray that labour not be external to us- that our will indeed be God's will, that God circumcise our hearts, that we delight in His law.

If this is not the case and we are indeed alienated from God's will, then work and service to Him will indeed be a form of alienation and of course we will rebel. This is precisely the reason, therefore, that our law and work is framed within this way- because the Torah knows this is true. If we see the law as part of ourselves, within ourselves, an extension of ourselves as people created in the image of God it will be a joy to us. If we see it as outside of ourselves, we shall indeed be alienated, resentful and angry; this will lead us to view the profit of our endeavors as outside ourselves for a master in whom we bear nothing in common- that oppressive God who forces us to do His will.

I've been on both sides of this feeling- feeling that it is my greatest joy to do God's will and also seeing it as something oppressive and forced on me that in no way expresses who I am as a person- so I know that the alienation one experiences, from work and from God, is a sad and difficult thing. Kareit is a form of this alienation; that's what it means to be cut off. I wonder sometimes if we all taste a miniature piece of kareit when we feel like the law is absolutely cruel/ incomprehensible and cannot see God in it at all. At that point in time we must force ourselves to keep it, because we certainly wouldn't of our own initiative.

Separate Seating at Weddings

So over Shabbat I read Volume 2 of The Modest Way. It is entitled Woman & The Mitzvot and is written by Rabbi Getsel Ellinson. Dana leant it to me. The best part about it is that it actually has the sources (so you see where everything comes from.) That's great!

Some of it was fascinating, while other parts simply disturbed me. For instance, do any of you really not hug and kiss your brothers and sisters? I can't imagine coming home to Chicago and not being able to hug Taran and Urchin.

One of the parts I found most interesting had to do with separate seating at a wedding (or as he titles it, 'Controversy Over Separate Seating at Seudat Mitzva.') Here are the sources (with the understanding that there are footnotes I'm not typing up, so you should take out the book if you want to learn more.) This covers pages 21-24.

Sefer Hassidim 393:

Whoever recites she-ha-Simhah be-Meono must discern whether those present fulfilled "Rejoice with trembling" (Psalms 2:11). If either the bride or groom is disreputable, if such vulgarity reigns that the bride and groom speak obscene language, or if the women invite lewd thought by sitting among the men, the blessing cannot be recited.

Any mitzvah performed at the cost of a sin is best omitted. Here, if he knows that gladdening the bride and groom will necessarily be accompanied by lewdness, or that he, himself, will be unable to avoid unseemly thought or the sight of women, he should not attend.

Bayyit Haddash (Bah) on Tur Even ha-Ezer 62:

In Cracow, as the dinner held the evening following a wedding, Asher Bara is customarily recited, but not she-ha-Simhah be-Meono, and I can only venture the following explanation: These are small affairs with males and females seated in the same room, and the Sefer ha-Minhagim writes that she-ha-Simhah be-Meono is omitted wherever there is any risk of lewd thought.

Kitzur Shulhan Arukh 149:1:

Men and women must not eat in one room. If they do so, she-ha-Simhah be-Meono must be omitted, for there is no joy when the Evil Impulse holds sway.

Levush ha-Hur, Likutei Minhagim 36:

We are not particular about this now, perhaps because the presence of women among men is so common that it no longer so invites unseemly thought. Having become habituated to it, it no longer affects them.

Igrot Moshe, Orah Hayyim 41:

At optional gatherings, including weddings, I am uncertain whether the prohibition applies where there is no fear of yihud, but I tend to think not. Men and women used to consume the Pesah offering in the same home. Each offering was consumed by several families together- all groups held more than ten men (Tractate Pesahim). If a partition had divided men from women they would have constituted two groups. The Mishnah also teaches that groups cannot be formed of just women and slaves, and Rava explains, "lest it lead to sin." Hence we derive that for women to form a group with Jewish men is permissible.

~

So I thought that was very interesting. It seems odd to me that people are basically relying upon Sefer Hassidim (which has lots of stuff we don't do anymore/ is generally not seen as straight-up halakha l'maasa) for this. After all, people are not really following the Kitzur Shulhan Arukh (the men and women generally eat in the same room, just with a partition between- or does the partition somehow make it two rooms?) The Levush says we're not particular about this and R' Moshe says it's permissible (the point about the Pesach offering was stunning; I loved that) so hurrah for mixed weddings. *smile*

happy chana! here be seven things I love

I changed up the blog, as you can see, and now it is COLORFUL. And color makes me super-happy! And on that note, I shall do the meme that everyone wants me to do about things that make me happy. So here we go...seven things I love/ that make me happy.

1. People! I love people, particularly my fantastic family, The Little Old Lady, my Mermaid Child (who is now 21, mazal tov!), The Girl From Philly, BlueJew, CS Louis, Lightman + The Tent-Peg Wielder, Daughter of God, Spock, Sam, Jordan and so forth. Also, my amazing cousin Yechiel who has gone off to Israel to join the IDF (I miss him.)

2. Books! Every single kind, but particularly fantasy and fiction. (George R. R. Martin's Song of Ice and Fire series remains my favorite.) And Sefarim- I've decided that since my mother already purchased my kitchen, my wedding registry will consist of the Beit Midrash I desire instead. No Bed, Bath & Beyond for Me- it's gonna be an Eichlers party. *smirk*

3. Papyrus. Papyrus is a card-store and if you ever want to make me happy, you should buy me a glittery card from there. I don't like Hallmark or any other card-store as much as I do Papyrus. (At my wedding, dear people, I only expect Papyrus cards- if you purchase another, it shows you don't know me well enough.)

4.The Creative Process- Whether it's painting, cooking, dancing, thinking, I love to create things (and most importantly, myself, a la The Rav.)

5. New and Interesting Situations. Have a crazy idea of something that'd be fun to do? Doesn't matter if it's 3 AM- call me up and let's go have a party! Whether it's Shakespeare in the Parking Lot or dancing in fountains, Chana is there, there, there! Nothing crazy has ever stopped me before (unless it's dangerous.)

6. Parties! I love parties which are intimate enough that people can get to know one another. So not huge, overstuffed parties where people are chewing on canapes and trying to painfully avoid stepping on one another's toes. But parties where people are actually doing something fun and/or talking to one another.

7. Glitter and Color. No matter what you get me, as long as it is glittery and colorful, I will love it. All my t-shirts are glittery and colorful, as are my paintings, as are my fingernails and toenails when I get them done, as are my hair-barettes...you get the idea.

I tag God! And being brilliant, I can answer for Him- seven things He loves:

1. When I follow His will as opposed to exercising mine
2. When I've figured out the lessons He's teaching me
3. When I quit sulking and am happy instead!
4. When I talk to Him (particularly if I'm respectful but He's good with angry Chana, too)
5. When I get very excited about His Torah
6. When all of us Jews demonstrate our love for one another
7. When I honor the Shabbat day as He desires!

I'm going to add an eighth thing for God- His daughter. God loves me. Sometimes I can't tell, but I know that it is true. And for the times I both know it and feel it, well, that makes me happy, too.

Rapunzel

A Month From Today: Angel's Day!

A month from today is 9-09-09. Now, isn't that interesting? There's perfect symmetry. 999. It's like Angel's Day, because 666 is Devil's Day and 999 is the flipped-upside-down version. Therefore, by virtue of its awesomeness, 9/09/09 is fabulosity day extroardinaire and everything that happens on that day is fantastical and dusted in sparkles. Maybe I should host a 999 party. We can learn all about angels by virtue of its being Angel's Day. So everyone can come eat cake and learn interesting stuff about the angelic crew in heaven. That'd be fun, no? We can compare and contrast the angels by Gideon and Shimshon and I'll be surrounded by lots of people eating angel's food cake. The only problem is that I have class till 8:40 pm. Would anyone come to a party that starts and ends before 5:00 pm?

Oh, Tis A Party Being Me

1. I am not watching pornography for my Sex & Gender Roles Class. My teacher is nice enough to allow us to make up those classes some other way + my father would not approve= ye gods, since when is pornography class? All right, I mean I kind of get it...but really? Really? Sex films in class...and disturbing ones at that. Rape, violence, not stuff that really makes me too happy, you know?

2. How can I get to Ateres Charna via public transportation? Alternatively, who else is going to my beloved Daughter of God's wedding on Monday (and do you want to give me a ride?) Does it help at all if I sleep over in Monsey and then try to get there via public transport?

Joseph, Eved Ivri & Teshuva

(Thank you so much, Dana! It was through my discussion with you today that I realized this. For y'all: Dana is one of my apartment mates. Also, thanks to the commentators on this blog- it was due to y'all that theft was on my mind.)

~

The Rav (Rabbi Joseph B. Soloveitchik) writes about the amazing ability of teshuva. He states as follows:

The first principle of repentance is that the sinner be divested of his status as a rasha. This can only be attained if the sinner terminates his past identity and assumes a new identity for the future. It is a creative gesture which is responsible for the emergence of a new personality, a new self. This creative gesture is precipitated by an absolute decision of the will and intellect together. “What is repentance? It consists in this: that the sinner abandon his sin, remove it from his thoughts, and resolve in his heart never to repeat it…that he regret the past…and that he call the One who knows all secrets as a witness to his resolve never to return to this sin again…It is also necessary that he make verbal confession and utter these matters which he had decided in his heart. The abandonment of sin (i.e., the resolve for the future) and the regret over the past divest the sinner of his status as a rasha. They “sever” his spiritual continuity and transform his identity (and He who knows all secrets will bear witness to this act of creation.) Verbal confession is directed toward precipitating the bestowal of atonement. Atonement, however, is only a peripheral aspect of repentance. Its central aspect is the termination of a negative personality, the sinner’s divesting himself of his status as a rasha- indeed, the total obliteration of that status. “Some of the modes of manifesting repentance are that the peitent…changes his name, as much as to say: ‘I am another person and am not the same man who committed these deeds.” The desire to be another person, to be different than I am now, is the central motif of repentance. Man cancels the law of identity and continuity which prevails in the “I” awareness by engaging in the wondrous, creative act of repentance. A person is creative; he was endowed with the power to create at his very inception. When he finds himself in a situation of sin, he takes advantage of his creative capacity, returns to God, and becomes a creator and self-fashioner. Man, through repentance, creates himself, his own “I.” [emph. mine]

~Halakhic Man by Rabbi Joseph B. Soloveitchik, page 112

It occurred to me that the greatest proof for the Rav's understanding of teshuva is the idea of an Eved Ivri. An Eved Ivri is often one who has stolen from another person but lacks the funds to pay back what he has stolen. He therefore becomes an indentured servant; his wages are payable to the family that he has stolen from. The amazing thing is that the fact that he is accepted as an indentured servant assumes that he has done perfect teshuva. Who would want to hire a thief as a servant? Don't we often hear stories of people firing their servants due to the fact that they've stolen from him? The family who does take this man in as a servant assumes that he has done perfect teshuva and recreated himself; he will not steal again. That is why he is placed in this position of trust.

To understand the kind of trust afforded to a servant, we can take a look back at arguably the first Eved Ivri. That would be Joseph. Obviously Joseph was not sold into servitude to another Jewish family, but very interestingly the text refers to him in these terms- he is specifically described as 'Eved' and titled 'Ivri' by the butler. See Genesis 41: 12:

יב וְשָׁם אִתָּנוּ נַעַר עִבְרִי, עֶבֶד לְשַׂר הַטַּבָּחִים, וַנְּסַפֶּר-לוֹ, וַיִּפְתָּר-לָנוּ אֶת-חֲלֹמֹתֵינוּ: אִישׁ כַּחֲלֹמוֹ, פָּתָר. 12 And there was with us there a young man, a Hebrew, servant to the captain of the guard; and we told him, and he interpreted to us our dreams; to each man according to his dream he did interpret.

Now, remember how much Potiphar trusted Joseph as a servant- everything except 'lechem,' his master's wife, was within his hands. See Genesis 39: 8-9:

ח וַיְמָאֵן--וַיֹּאמֶר אֶל-אֵשֶׁת אֲדֹנָיו, הֵן אֲדֹנִי לֹא-יָדַע אִתִּי מַה-בַּבָּיִת; וְכֹל אֲשֶׁר-יֶשׁ-לוֹ, נָתַן בְּיָדִי. 8 But he refused, and said unto his master's wife: 'Behold, my master, having me, knoweth not what is in the house, and he hath put all that he hath into my hand;

ט אֵינֶנּוּ גָדוֹל בַּבַּיִת הַזֶּה, מִמֶּנִּי, וְלֹא-חָשַׂךְ מִמֶּנִּי מְאוּמָה, כִּי אִם-אוֹתָךְ בַּאֲשֶׁר אַתְּ-אִשְׁתּוֹ; וְאֵיךְ אֶעֱשֶׂה הָרָעָה הַגְּדֹלָה, הַזֹּאת, וְחָטָאתִי, לֵאלֹהִים. 9 he is not greater in this house than I; neither hath he kept back any thing from me but thee, because thou art his wife. How then can I do this great wickedness, and sin against God?'

So too the Eved Ivri! He is a servant but he too can be placed in positions of great trust. Thus we assume he is a new man, someone who has done perfect teshuva; he will not steal again. We may trust him in our house and he will not betray our trust.

Note that Joseph, the first 'Eved Ivri' is chastened due to the fact that he placed his trust in mortal men (the butler) as opposed to God. See commentaries to Genesis 40: 23:

כג וְלֹא-זָכַר שַׂר-הַמַּשְׁקִים אֶת-יוֹסֵף, וַיִּשְׁכָּחֵהוּ. {פ} 23 Yet did not the chief butler remember Joseph, but forgot him.

Similarly, if our Eved Ivri chooses to stay on with his host family as opposed to becoming a free man after six years, we must bore a hole in his ear as a sign of the fact that he has chosen mortal men over God. However, I believe there is something more fundamental to the problem that occurs when an Eved Ivri chooses to stay on with his host family: it is a sign that he has not done perfect teshuva.

How do I mean? The Eved Ivri was first sent to that family due to the fact that he was a thief. He stole. He was there to work off his debt. In choosing to remain with his host family, he shows that he has not changed. He is still stealing, except this time he steals from God. God requires of man to serve Him; He is man's only master. The Eved Ivri is claiming ownership of something that does not truly belong to him- his body and his work- and choosing to give them over to the host family rather than becoming a free man to serve God. His essence has not changed; he has not fully completed the process of teshuva. In effect, he is stealing from God- stealing what is rightfully owed God and giving it to the host master instead.

While we allow him to do this, we realize that his teshuva is imperfect, and that is what the hole bored in his ear signifies. This man was accepted into the host family as a repentant person who had not sinned (due to his recreation of self). However, in choosing not to leave the host family, he demonstrates that the character traits that led him to steal are still within him; he has not totally recreated himself. This is where he is lacking. In choosing not to return to God, he continues to 'steal.'

Ha Lachma Anya (I Welcome The Shabbat Queen, Part 3)

This Shabbat, my share of the cooking included the following spread, which consists of Sweet & Sour Meatballs on Rice, Apple Kugel (thanks for the recipe, RaggedyMom!), Carrot Kugel and Pasta with Sauce.

And then the pièce de résistance: Pineapple Chicken!

I'm serious about the invitation, by the way- if you live in the Heights and are a nice person, be friends with me! And all you folks in Queens and Brooklyn and the rest of the Boroughs, make friends in the Heights, sleep over and come to me for Shabbat.

Tis Our Destiny

ז כִּי-אָדָם, לְעָמָל יוּלָּד; וּבְנֵי-רֶשֶׁף, יַגְבִּיהוּ עוּף. 7 But man is born unto trouble, as the sparks fly upward.
~Job 5:7

Things I Did Today!

Today I:

1. Went grocery shopping at 8 AM
2. Thus, took the A to the 7 to the 6 to get to Hunter
3. Attended classes
4. Walked 60 blocks (from 68th & Lex to 8th & 5th Avenue) alongside my atheist friend Mike
5. Chilled on the lawn in Washington Square Park (listening to accordion and marraca-music). Spent five hours in Mike's company discussing films, Judaism, atheism and more.
6. Refused to sign a petition for Central Park horses to be treated more humanely (nursed back to health and placed in sanctuaries) since I think it's perfectly natural for a horse to draw a carriage. Then got into a discussion with the guy who wanted me to sign it (he attends The New School) about whether or not we actually exist, a la Descartes.
7. Took the F train from 14th Street to Delancey
8. Saw the incredible (free!) production of the Drilling Theater Company's Shakespeare in the Parking Lot's "Measure for Measure" (the actors are great! and it's free! and the actresses are skimpily clad, so if you're not into that, don't go - also, Shakespeare's quite bawdy and at one point in their adaptation they hold up a purple dildo, so don't go if that moment will bother you)

Lucio, played by David Marantz, was my favorite character (and Marantz portrayed him so brilliantly!)

9. Took the F to the 1 to go home
10. Met the most awesome black guy on the train. He's a personal trainer and his brother plays basketball in Chicago. He offered to ride with me to my stop, but I said he should get off by his (157th.)

Today's sure to be even more interesting, since cooking for Shabbat has to occur without any water (they're turning the water off in my building from 10 AM-5 PM.) Ack.

Ah, The Wonderment of Being Alive

You know it's sure to be a brilliant morning when you wake up to Sheryl Crowe's "The First Cut is the Deepest" playing over and over again in your head.

That having been said, adventures galore await. See y'all on some of them.

Friendship Party

Did you know, according to my Sex & Gender roles teacher, same-sex friendships are more common than those between the sexes?

I always thought that was a function of our single-sex schools + the religious speeches they give you, but apparently that is true across the board.

Tis yet another way I'm an anomaly.

Random Factotem of Interesting Knowledge: I'm exhausted.
Random Fact 2: It's going to pour today.
Random Fact 3: I got soaked last time it poured, to the point that I had to walk into a Barnes and Noble and squeeze my sopping dress's accumulated water into a garbage can and pat my hair with paper towels to little or no effect.
Random Fact 4: I did not enjoy this experience (okay, I enjoyed it a little.)
Random Fact 5: I own no umbrella.
Random Fact 6: Today would thus be a good day to buy an umbrella.
Random Fact 7: It is nonetheless doubtful that I will indeed purchase the umbrella.

I already either read 2 books a day or watch 8 episodes of random shows (or films); I must introduce some variety into my life. Preferably not aligned with the splitting headache episode which commences...now.

O, the joys of being awake at a time before the grocery stores and supermarkets actually open.

The Fairy Queen 2

(a modern-day adaptation)

The Fairy Queen was crying on the E train.

She said: Please, God- won't you
take all the pieces
and make me whole again?

God said: You must forgive the mortal man.
She said: You have no idea how hard it is.
God said: Of course I do. I made you.
She said: But my enemy dances in my head.
God said: You're stronger than that.
She said: I'm always falling.
God said: The better part of yourself will win out.
She said: I trust You. I hope that's true. I pray for them, but I wonder what good that does considering how angry I am.
God said: Even your anger is a tool.
She said: Give me a cause.
God said: Remember that you are the Fairy Queen.
She said: Why must everything impossible be given to me?
God said: You're special.

(The Fairy Queen rolled her eyes.)

She said: I fail You in everything.
God said: You only think that. It's not true.
She said: I wish I believed that.

And she turned away.

God smiled at her but she didn't see.

She said: But my friend, my friend! I had one friend. Only one and You took him from me.

God was silent.

She walks, the Fairy Queen, and she tries to figure out how to use her anger for a pure purpose. Nothing worthwhile is easy.

Darling, I Don't Know How To Tell You This, But There's a Chinese Family In Our Bathroom

Everyone should see '500 Days of Summer.'

It's poignant, sad, sweet and heartwrenching.

(SPOILERS)

Firstly, the film is brilliant. It's a totally unconventional romantic comedy in that the main protagonist doesn't end up with the woman he loves. In fact, she treats him pretty badly. So it's the quintessential film for anybody who has had relationships that didn't end happily.

The lighting/ mood and the way the camera moves from scene to scene is also excellent throughout.

My favorite scenes:

1. Tom & Summer in Ikea. They're playing in the furniture store as though they were little kids, and they throw themselves down onto a showbed. Tom leans over Summer and drawls, "Dahling, I don't know how to tell you this, but there's a Chinese family in our bathroom," referring to the family who has come to check out the bathroom furnishings and is appalled to see two people lying down on a bed in the store. (You know who would totally play in furniture stores? That's right- me.)

2. The reality vs. expectations scene. The line regarding "Who would want to make something disposable like a building when you could make something that'd last forever, like a greeting card?" (Summer was so cruel throughout this movie- I really didn't like her. It was cruel of her to dance with Tom without telling him that she was getting engaged. She really led him on.)

3. Tom in his Twinkie-eating/ zombie/ bathrobe-wearing mode when he's thinking about Summer getting married and he's sad.

4. The scene in the park where he tells her he doesn't get how she went from being a only-looking-for-casual person to being somebody's wife. And how he'll never understand that. (She's so cruel in this scene, too.) Also, the conversation that goes like this:

Tom: I guess I should say 'Congratulations.'
Summer: Only say it if you mean it.
Tom: In that case [trails off- he doesn't.]

[more talk]

Tom: Summer- I do hope you're happy.

5. The girl named Autumn!

~

Soundtrack Pick: She's Got You High- iMummRa

Pidyon Shvuyim for Thieves and Liars?

I think it is monstrous that anyone would even think to mention that we should be donating money for pidyon shvuyim for people who clearly have chosen not to internalize any of the Torah that they learned. The Rabbis of New Jersey knew full well that money-laundering, theft and selling used body parts was totally unacceptable, unethical and sinful. I hope they're locked up in jail for the rest of their lives. The Chilul Hashem they have caused is enormous. I walk into Hunter and everyone looks at me and knows I'm an Orthodox Jew. But I'm not just an Orthodox Jew. I'm the Orthodox Jew whose rabbis steal money and are fraudulent and find nothing sacred. And for people like these, people who knowingly did what was totally wrong, we are asked to pay money? To save them from the punishment they so richly deserve? You have got to be kidding.

And I don't care what ridiculous loopholes in halakha people use to try to justify it: there is a concept of right and wrong and it is written clearly in the Torah. One must be honest- with Jews, with gentiles, with everyone! These people are disgusting; they dare to pretend to lead the community when in truth they don't give a damn about their Judaism. Am I judging them? Hell yeah! These are the people who make my religion into something that the nations of the world laugh at; they don't care about being a light unto the nations. They don't care about anything except dirtying the language of Torah in order to use it for fraud (part of their code utilized 'gemaras.')

I hope these people who dare to pretend to be upstanding leaders and scholars and then betray the entire community this way have the book thrown at them. I hope they get locked up forever. A betrayal of this magnitude (to man and God) should not go unpunished. Where did people's integrity go? Their understanding of right and wrong, honesty, being ethical? When did the halakha become a tool to subvert honesty and allow for cheats and liars? God must be crying to see what's happened to His Law.

And who in their right mind could claim that Madoff's sentence was due to anti-semitism? Are you kidding me? The man stole millions and billions of dollars from people, from Jewish charities. He turned on his own kind, his brethren, and you are claiming the court system is at fault and is anti-semitic. Are you out of your minds?

What in the hell do they teach you in these right-wing yeshivot?

In Which Chana Goes to Williamsburg (And Scandalizes Everyone)

After finishing class today, I realized that I wanted to use my Unlimited MetroCard to visit somewhere interesting. And since I had time, I decided on the spur of the moment that it'd be fun to go to Gottlieb's. In case you're curious as to what Gottlieb's is, it's a kosher-style deli that's existed since 1962. They serve really fantastic heimesh food like various kinds of kishke, meat, chicken soup, brisket, cherry soup, etc.

Now, under normal circumstances it is proper to dress oneself so as not to offend the residents of a neighborhood. Thus, under normal circumstances I would have Bais-Yaakofied in order to visit this wondrous enclave of Hasidic Jews. But since it would take much too long to go home to Washington Heights, change, and then go back, I figured I'd wing it and test the amount of tolerance the various sects had for Jews other than themselves. To explain what one ought to wear if one's a young maiden in Williamsburg, I'll give you a breakdown of what I was wearing:

I wore: Black shirt (form-fitting), jean skirt (tiered), long gold hoop earrings and open-toe sandals with toenails painted red. Fingernails are blue.

The girls wear: Button-down Oxford shirts (not form-fitting), black pleated skirts, stockings with seams or black stockings, closed-toe flat shoes and studs or preferably pearl earrings.

So I hopped on the 6 train, went to Canal Street, transferred to the M, got off at Marcy and walked over to Roebling. However, at that point I noticed what seemed to be a main street, Lee, and I was so fascinated by it that I decided to walk as far up and down that street as I could, which proved to be incredibly interesting. Firstly, there was the fact that none of the men look at you as you pass by. They all look at the ground. I think this is a pretty fantastic talent, since they're still able to get where they are going, although I fancy they must get tired of looking at the sidewalk. The women, in contrast, are all pushing strollers while wearing their tichels, hair pieces and suits. Everyone speaks Yiddish (which means I don't understand a word.) Also, despite the fact that I smiled at everyone I saw, I was the evil whore of Babylon to all who saw me. Every single woman or girl (and that includes little kids) looked me up and down, saw my red toes and gave me a withering look of disdain (as though I were some kind of insect.) While I deserved that, I do think it is somewhat amusing that if I were a Jew in a hospital bed they wouldn't mind at all and would be happy to help me; it's when I infiltrate the community in inappropriate garb that I am an evil influence. On the plus side, they didn't stone me or say anything to me in a language I could understand (though some old ladies muttered to themselves in Yiddish), and really that is remarkably impressive and speaks well of their tolerance.

The thing that really tripped me out was the amount of Hebrew and Yiddish everywhere. I'm used to seeing Hebrew displayed on a Sofer or Jewish bookstore's shop-window, but every single store has some kind of Yiddish or Hebrew advertisement. There are signs up advocating for the release of the three boys who are in Japanese jail currently. Every single schoolbus has its Hebrew name displayed alongside it- whether it's a Yeshiva or a Bais Yaakov. That tripped me out; can you imagine riding a school bus with Hebrew alongside it? That's cool! I entered one of the Jewish bookstores and was fascinated by the fact that everything was either in Yiddish or Hebrew. There was one tiny section with all the English books crammed together (but you got the impression that English is not a spoken or widely-read language.) The cool thing about the Yiddish books is that there was one entitled Chana'leh. (And Shloma'leh and Moshe'leh and Ayn Zechus Phun Tehillim and something about a tailor- with the word shneider.) I wanted to buy the one with my name but my father pointed out that I can't read Yiddish, so there wouldn't be much point, sadly. Oh! And the Jewish bookstores sell magazines like Binah and suchlike (no other sort of magazine is to be found.)

But perhaps one of the most fascinating things I noticed was when I entered the toystore. Every single doll sold in that toystore is tznius. Or, to modify that, some of the dolls have pants but they are not the sort of dolls that show off skin. There are no Barbies or Bratz. These dolls are imported from France and are very cute and modestly dressed. They range from $25 and up in price. And it was really fun to see the aisles and aisles of Jewish-themed toys and games. You can make a crown reading 'Abraham' to hang in your sukkah for $88. Or you can purchase the Gematriah game or Torah-Land and much, much more.

I also thought it was interesting that there's unofficial stroller parking outside every store. I easily passed plenty of stores that had 20 strollers taking in the sunlight; women milling around inside the shop. But I also saw the lady who had left her baby outside (her baby was communing with me) while she went inside; I was less happy about that. Or there was the lady who hit her son in the street. (But none of these things are unique to Hasidic Jews- there are plenty of people who do all these things.) It also cracked me up that the population of the streets I walked through was Jews and black people. So I would pass three black guys and then 50 Hasidic Jews. There was something amusing in that.

There was a sign on a drugstore that I liked a lot. It read 'Are you trying to impress your shcheina (neighborhood) or the Shchina (God)?'

And then, after walking all the way back down Lee to Bedford and Divison, I decided to go to Gottlib's. Of course, just the fact that I walked in was scandalous because I was the only girl in a restaraunt filled with Chassidish men. Nonetheless, the person who was nicest to me out of everyone I'd met so far was the man behind the counter. Despite the fact that he could only speak English poorly and with a very thick accent, he made sure to give me everything I wanted. While I was eating my (delicious) food, a woman with her three daughters came in. The daughters (ages 3 and 5 and a bit younger than 3, probably) came and sat by my table; they liked me. The woman told them in Yiddish to leave me alone, but there was one little one who was particularly fascinated by me. I thought that was nice.

But it was the conversation I had with the nice man behind the counter that was the best.

Man Behind The Counter: You are from Flatbush?
Me: (sputter of laughter since I know that's an insult, but it makes sense- after all, I'm obviously not from here- look at my clothes!) No, I'm from Washington Heights.
MBTC: The subway, it goes there?
Me: Yup! The 1 train and the A train.
MBTC: But isn't it far?
Me: Yup.
MBTC: About an hour, yes?
Me: Yup, but that's okay. [he returns my credit card] Thanks so much!
MBTC: Have a good day.
Me: You too!

Some people trip out on drugs, alcohol or acid. I trip out by wandering through New York. (And then taking 5 trains in order to get back home- the M to the 6 to the 7 (Shuttle To Times Square) to the 2 to the 1). Also, apparently I'm from Flatbush. Huzzah for Williamsburg!

The Firebrand

A story- because I love him.

I walk this empty street
On the boulevard of broken dreams
Where the city sleeps
And I'm the only one and I walk alone

~
~'Boulevard of Broken Dreams' by Green Day

She smirked at him across the kitchen table. Little flecks of chocolate dotted her lips; she slipped her tongue between them, cleaning them off. Jason smiled. Lisa’s mother continued her remarks from the kitchen sink, turning anxiously.

“Isn’t there anything else you would like, Jason?” Mrs. Sapir was a petite woman, a beret placed loosely upon her pixie hair cut. Her features were finely cut, as though she were a diamond that had been chiseled just so. Her daughter shared her beauty, although Lisa was golden, with tresses that reached her shoulders and blue eyes that sparkled mischievously.

“I’m really fine, Mrs. Sapir,” Jason answered politely, patting his stomach. “Every time I come over to the Sapirs, I know that I’m going to be set for life! You always make enough food to feed an army.” He smiled. “It’s really a treat. I totally appreciate it. Honestly, living on college cafeteria food can assuage your hunger only so much.”

Lisa darted up from the table. “I know what he likes,” she informed her mother, briskly moving toward the tea kettle and expertly opening a drawer. “Nana tea!” she turned about brightly, holding the packet up before him.

Jason smiled. “Okay, caught me out,” he conceded, his brown eyes, so dark as to be almost black, guileless. He had long eyelashes that fringed them and an angular face; his cheekbones high and hollow. His lips formed a perfect bow and were very red. He wore his sensuality casually, carried it with him comfortably. Not for the first time Lisa thought of her various friends and how they wanted to date him. She shook her head.

“Ah, Jason,” she sighed. “What am I going to do with you?” She brought the cup to the table, setting it beside him. He inclined his head politely, a deep nod that expressed his thanks. He sighed and she smiled, noting the small black leather kipa on his head.

“No clips today?” she teased. “You’ve returned to bobby-pins?”

“So many of my girlfriends were asking for pins to put up their hair,” he joked, “that I figured it was the best way to help them out.”

“Oh, you wretch!” she cried, color dancing in her cheeks. Her mother smiled.

“What are your plans for today?” Mrs. Sapir inquired.

“Well, I wanted to show Jason a bit of New York,” Lisa began. “I figured I’d take him to Central Park and we’d go wandering about a bit; it’s so lovely there, you know.”

“Okay, that sounds like an excellent idea,” her mother affirmed, untying her red apron and folding it over the handle of the stove. “You’ll take the subway?”

“Course,” Lisa affirmed. “There’d be no point otherwise, now would there?” Her mother smiled.
“Jason,” Mrs. Sapir informed him, “I believe Lisa is about to conduct another of her tireless adventures.”

“Oh, don’t worry,” Jason laughed. “I’m well aware.”

“We have to take lunches!” Lisa stated, wandering about the kitchen. She assembled brown paper bags, whole wheat bread, peanut butter and jelly on a counter. Then, as though on second thought, she reached for some miniature Crunch bars. “As I recall, you’re not allergic, right?” she questioned him.

“Nah,” said Jason. “Although when I was little I was supposedly allergic to strawberries.”

“Really?” Lisa inquired with interest while spreading peanut butter across a slice of bread.

“Yup. So of course, when I got older, I decided to only eat strawberries.” He grinned lazily.

“You must have gotten incredibly sick,” Lisa stated.

“Nope, not at all,” he informed her. “Strawberries are still my favorite fruit.”

“You’re incorrigible,” she informed him, affecting a state of high dudgeon.

“As are you, Lisa,” he stated. “But don’t worry, that’s why I love you.”

She grinned. They’d been friends for two years, since she had met him while working on the Lev Tahor journal. Interested in the same texts, fascinated by the same rabbinical figures, they had continued working toward their various goals. This year she was to begin grad school while he was off to start semikha. She joked with him often that he was the most eligible guy she knew and she’d be happy to set him up with any number of her friends. He always cited the line from ‘Ella Enchanted’ to her; he was too young to get married, too old, too ugly or otherwise silly. But he’d gone on dates with her friends, although not yet having achieved success. The girls inevitably liked him, though. “Aw, Lisa,” they’d say. “I’m sorry it didn’t work out. We’re just hashkafically different, you know?”

She supposed she saw that. He wasn’t the typical semikha student. After all, he wore jeans, hung out with girls, and spent his time having fun in addition to studying. Many of her friends were more focused upon marrying the sort of guy who would never speak to them until he was permitted to, that is, when he was set up with them.

Throwing two lunches into her bag, she pulled out a MetroCard and waved it underneath his nose. “Make sure you have yours!” she cheerfully stated.

He pulled it out of the pocket of his jeans. “Ready when you are, lovely Lisa,” he teased. “Lead the way.”

*

They took the Q train to 42nd street, figuring they’d walk the rest of the way. It was a pleasant day and she figured they could wander about till they reached Central Park.

“Besides,” she told him, “you need the exercise.” He didn’t, of course; he was perfectly fit and trim. In fact, he ran every day, usually at night-time. He didn’t seem to mind running through Harlem even though she usually worried about his safety.

“Course I do,” he answered solemnly. “The same way that you desperately need to diet.”

She laughed. “And you know I have an ulterior motive.”

“Yes?” he questioned.

“FAO Schwartz!” she stated gleefully.

“So we’re walking down to 5th Avenue; is that it?”

“Yup,” she stated as they slipped through the bustle of people. Chinese, Korean, Japanese, Australian, British, African-American, Hispanic and so forth, she loved the blazing medley of colors and tongues as various people milled about 42nd Street. Also, Mayor Bloomberg had recently decided that little parks ought to be formed in the midst of Times Square, so she was tickled to see little green chairs and tables set up and people playing ball games in the middle of the turf.

“Hold up,” he said, joining her and walking comfortably beside her. He thrust his hands into his jeans and whistled a little. She wanted to shove him, playfully, of course. However, she couldn’t; there was shomer negiah to think of, after all. Instead, she rolled her eyes.

“You’re acting out a movie,” she accused him.

“If I am, that makes you the beautiful leading lady,” he flirted innocently.

She rolled her eyes once more. “Compliments won’t get you everywhere, you know.”

He leaned close to her but not so close that they were touching. “Won’t they?” he whispered, his voice suggestive.

“Oh, you,” she stated and waved her head dismissively. They trekked down the avenues and over toward 5th where they walked up, staring at neon lights and various plazas, until they reached FAO Schwartz.

“Oh, look, it’s like the guards at Buckingham Palace!” she exclaimed, nodding toward the man in costume who guarded the door.

“I think we should take a picture with him,” Jason ventured. He walked over to the guard. “Any chance we could get a picture with you?” he asked.

“Why, certainly,” the guard amiably nodded.

“I’ll take one of you guys,” Lisa hastily interceded. She didn’t want to bother any passerby or bystanders to take one of both of them.

“Nope,” Jason stated, taking her digital camera from her hand. He stopped a man with silvering hair who wore khaki shorts and a polo shirt. “Sir, could you please take a picture of us?” He nodded toward himself and Lisa. Lisa blushed crimson.

“Course,” the man answered amiably, and taking the camera, motioned for Lisa and Jason to get into position. They did so, smiling next to the Buckingham Palace guard.

The man shot the picture and the two of them thanked him. “There was no need for that,” Lisa sighed. “I would have been perfectly happy not being in the picture.”

“I know,” Jason stated. “But I wouldn’t have been happy with that arrangement.” He held the door open for her. “Come on in.”

They entered the store, one of Lisa’s favorites. “All the animals here are so soft,” she exclaimed. “Plush and beautiful. I would like to hug each and every one.” Jason smiled at her.

“Oh, look!” she exclaimed, motioning towards a group of large brown teddy-bears. She threw herself across them, laughing. Jason looked down at her and smiled. He took the camera and snapped some pictures.

“You’re great,” he informed her as she shot up, excited to see the photos.

“Do you want me to take any pictures of you?” she inquired. They wandered up the stairs and into the baby section. She had a brilliant idea.

“Find the letter ‘J,’ like they have to decorate baby’s cribs, and I’ll take a picture of you with it,” she stated. She knew she was being silly, but that was the thing she liked about Jason; he didn’t mind being silly alongside her.

Obediently, he went off in search of the letter ‘J.’ He draped it over his neck as though it were some sort of talisman and struck a dashing pose.

“Perfect,” she informed him. “Ready to go?” He nodded. They swept out of the store and wandered onward to Central Park.

“See how lovely it is?” she told him with a sweeping gesture. Her motion included the vast vistas of green, rolling plains, the trees sprouting upward beautifully. She focused on the people passing by and laughed. “There’s all sorts of parts to the park. There’s a lake, you know,” she stated helpfully. “I was once here and saw two people tip out of their boat.”

“Oh really?” he questioned.

“Yup! And it was ridiculous like you would not believe.” She rolled her eyes. “So they tip out of the boat and you hear the woman scream, ‘There goes my f—ing passport!’ And you watch her stuff just float down the river. And then she shouts, ‘Call for help!’ Except, of course, none of us have any idea who to call! So this awesome Spanish guy named Louis- he was really hot-“

“Thanks for the commentary,” Jason added dryly.

“With really white teeth against his dark skin- I love that look, you know,” she continued, not minding him, “calls 911. And within ten minutes you’ve got NYPD boats, cars, fire trucks and even a flipping airplane out there searching for bodies. On our way out, we told them that there was nothing to be worried about; those folks had been rescued long ago. But they still had to figure it out, you know…what was so funny is what people started saying. Everyone started surmising different things. You know, maybe there was a fire in a boat, or maybe someone had died…because why else would you have an NYPD boat flitting all about?”

“Flitting?” he questioned, raising his eyebrows.

“Course. What else do helicopters do but flit?” she questioned.

“Well, last I heard they fly,” he corrected her.

“Do you want to eat lunch?” she inquired. “There are public restrooms somewhere here but I also brought water bottles; we can just wash with those.”

“Yeah, up on one of those grassy knolls,” he pointed. “Let’s climb up there.”

“’Kay,” she acceded, gracefully following him, her skirt whipping in the wind. She opened her backpack and pulled out the waterbottles, lunchbags and a beach towel.

“What’s the towel for?” he questioned.

“Well, I didn’t have a checkered tablecloth, so I figured a towel would have to do.” She flashed him a dazzling smile.

He shook his head and reached for the waterbottle, spilling water over each fist. Then, closing his eyes, he made the blessing, thanking God for providing him with the bread of the ground. He took a bite.

“Mmm,” he stated. “Premiere peanut-butter sandwiches.”

She looked at him suspiciously. “You kidding around?” she questioned.

“Not at all,” he stated. “Totally serious.”

She laughed and the two of them munched away on their sandwiches. She rifled around in the sandwich bags and found an apple, biting into it with a loud crunch.

“I love Grannysmith,” she mentioned. “There’s something about the taste- sweet, tart-“

She was interrupted by a black man. “I’m a poet,” he informed them. “I’d like to read you my poetry.”

Jason smiled at the heavens. “Go ahead,” he said. Lisa didn’t really want to be disturbed but figured she’d hear the guy out and give him a dollar. He read the poem to her- she wasn’t really concentrating on it- and she fished out the bill.

He looked hurt. “I really just wanted your opinion on it,” he stated.

“It was really good,” she lied easily, not wanting to admit she hadn’t heard a word. “Seriously. It was great.”

“Especially the part about the monk and the shark,” Jason interrupted.

She flashed him a look. Please, she begged God, just make him go away. “Yeah, that was really a flash of inspiration,” she nodded, and the man, consoled, blessed her and Jason, then went on his way.

“Ah, New York,” Jason stated, leaning back lazily underneath the shady tree.

“It’s all part of the colorful nature of the city,” she added.

“I have something to tell you,” he stated. She smiled.

“Learn something interesting lately?” she questioned.

“Not exactly,” he stated. He sat up, as though what he was about to say was extremely serious.

“What’s the matter?” she questioned, suddenly alarmed.

“Did I ever tell you about my year in Israel?” he asked her.

“I mean…I knew you went; I don’t think you told me more than that,” she stated tentatively.

“During my year in Israel, I hated myself.”

The words hung in the air, sharp as knives. She saw them before her, printed black on white, strung together on a silver shred of barbed wire. “Why?” she questioned softly, tentatively, tucking her legs up underneath her.

“Because I’m gay.”

The words shocked her. They ripped through her body, confusing her; it was almost as though she had not heard correctly. It was totally impossible. He was involved in so many committees, had so many friends; he had dated her friends, for God’s sake! And he wanted to become a Rabbi! How could he be gay? And how could she, Lisa, know someone who was gay? “Oh, Jason,” she mustered, her eyes clouding over in confusion and pain.

“And I hated myself for it. I hated myself like you wouldn’t believe, Lisa. I literally wanted to rip it out of me, kill it. See, there’s a certain eroticism you feel at any naked body, but when I look at a woman, it’s just- I don’t want that. That’s not what I want. But a man- a man gets me excited. I want men.” His voice was thick with hatred and disgust. “And I didn’t want to want them. But you have no idea the images that swam through my mind, the things I thought, and here I was, in high school- because yes, it started before Israel, but it was when I was finally away from home that I could really think it through-and there were guys that I had crushes on. I mean, I tried to wipe that off as no big deal and no big thing; I had one friend and I finally told him and he broke my heart.”

The words were said in a rush, as though he was struggling to get them off his chest. “I just told him I was gay and he was my roommate and he was completely freaked out. I had thought we were best friends; our friendship would withstand anything. I was wrong.”

“But Jason,” Lisa whispered, her voice very low, “are you absolutely…sure?”

“Sure?” He laughed. “You have no idea. I went to JONAH and those therapists who are supposed to turn you straight. I wanted to be straight, Lisa; I wanted to be! And I would do all those things, even put rubber bands on my wrists that I would flick every time I thought of a guy that way, to try to remind myself. I wanted to control my mind. And I even watched porn, of girls, to try to get myself excited. And obviously I dated girls and I just- I just don’t like them like that. I can’t get aroused for them, because of them. And can you imagine what that would be like, marrying a woman and wanting to love her and just not being able to get it up for her? Only able to do it if I think about men?” He shook his head; his expression was filled with self-loathing.

“What are you going to do?” she asked. Confusion whipped through her, feelings that she was unsure of; she didn’t know what to say or what to do, how to help. What could she do? The law existed apart from them both and the law was greater than them both. The law took precedence over them and their lives; God had stated that a man could not lie with a man as he did with a woman. And yet, and yet- this was Jason she was speaking to, her Jason, the man she loved like a brother.

“Well, I had determined that I was going to get married. I was going to beat this thing, you know? And I really thought that I could just deny this part of me and get married to some girl but I’ve dated girls, Lisa, you know I have and I can’t…I just…can’t…”

“Then…could you just…” she tried to think of an easy way to say it. She brushed her hair out of her eyes, wanting to phrase it the right way. “Not?”

“Not do anything, you mean?” He laughed at the suggestion, but the laugh sounded dark, angry, as though he were laughing at himself and the weakness of his will. “Lisa, I am not cut out to live alone. I cannot envision spending every day of my life, eighty or ninety years of my life completely alone. I need to have someone, someone to care for and nurture and to be in love with, only it needs to be…a man.”

Pain wracked her; it covered her completely and wholly. She wanted to find the right words. “Listen, Jason,” she said, “I love you. I always have, like a brother, and I always will and I am so sorry that you have to deal with this and I wish…I wish there were a way…”

“And then there’s the matter of my kids,” he started, and she gave an involuntary shudder.

“Kids?” she said, her voice disapproving.

“I want to have kids, Lisa; you have no idea how badly I want them. But I can’t go through with it with a woman, can’t have her coming second fiddle to my imagination and the men I dream of. I can’t just use a woman to have kids and then divorce her…but I’d get kids somehow, whether I would adopt them with my partner or what…and I’d love them and be an amazing father to them.”

“But Jason,” she said, quietly, not wanting him to take it the wrong way, “if you do that, you’re damning those kids’ futures. Maybe it’s wrong but in our community, if kids are raised by two parents of the same sex, there are going to be people who won’t play with them, who won’t invite them over…that’s aside from the question of your kids getting married. And how can you hope to bring them up to be Orthodox if the very fact that their parents are together in this way goes against the Torah?” She was the only one who could have asked these questions of him. As it was, she saw him pull himself together, keep himself in check. “Or- are you still Orthodox?” she questioned, a little afraid.

“I am,” he said. “Damn it to hell. I believe in God, you see. I’ve examined it and I’ve thought about it and I really do believe in God and I even believe that these are the laws that He’s given us but I can’t pass this test, you see? I can’t, Lisa. I’m Orthodox and I always will be in every way but this one- I’ll keep a kosher kitchen and raise my kids to believe in Hashem and everything. I just can’t, I can’t…” His voice shuddered and then to her horror he raised his hands and cupped his face within them. He was crying. She felt like a monster.

“Please, Jason,” she said softly, her voice shaking. “Please don’t cry.” She felt like she had killed him.

“You can’t imagine,” he said, his shoulders shaking. “You have no idea. I tried everything, everything. I wanted to kill myself.” He said that very low, as though to try no to underscore it. He didn’t want her pity or her sympathy just because of that; he stated it as a fact, not a ploy for attention.

“You’ve been given a challenge by God,” she said, her voice sympathetic and her tone soft. “A challenge the likes of which I cannot even imagine. But God himself stated that a man cannot sleep with another man…so I must regard it as a sin…you see how it must? But I want you to be happy, I really do….” her voice trailed off and the full horror of it came upon her. And then the tears came, her tears mingling with his. “Oh my God, Jason,” she choked out, sobbing. “I can’t…I can’t…”

He knew what she was trying to say. The two of them remained there, he with his face cupped in his hands, wracked by shuddering breaths, she with tears trickling down her cheeks.

“I would give anything,” she swore to him, “for you not to be in this situation.”

“I used to think I could be so strong,” he told her. “I really wanted to- I always envisioned getting married but you see, especially now that all my friends are getting married, I watch them and dance at their weddings and just think, I can never have that. I never will. Aside from the fact that I just can’t- I’m not attracted to women that way- how could I possibly do that to someone else? Who would ever marry me if they knew what I was?”

“Don’t say that!” Lisa stated, as though by the passion in her voice she could protect him. “I’m sure there are people who would marry you; I’m sure there are! You are kind and good and I…” I love you, she wanted to say. I love you like my brother and I can’t imagine your pain. I want to wrap my arms around you and soothe you and tell you that it will all be better but I can’t promise that, I can’t, because I don’t know if it will be.

He had regained control of himself. “Lisa,” he said gravely, “thank you. I appreciate the fact that you don’t think worse of me.”

“How could I?” she breathed. It was an impossibility.

He looked into her eyes; a sad smile lined his lips. “Shall we walk a little?” he asked, and springing to her feet, the two raced down the hill and reached the path.

*

They were thick in the underbrush, keeping their voices low so that no one should hear them. “What happened in Israel?” Lisa inquired, her blue eyes shining up at him.

“Well, that was when it came to a head. I had to do something. I was going crazy. I had all these feelings in me but also all the hatred- you can’t imagine how much. So I spoke to my Rabbi and thank God, he was a good one; he listened to me, he heard me out. He has never judged me. And so together we arranged that I would do these things- JONAH, therapy, and whatnot. But it didn’t work.”

“Those things can’t work,” Lisa said scornfully.

“Well, that’s not necessarily true,” Jason stated. “Have you ever heard of the Kinsey scale?”

Lisa looked up at him quizzically.

“Well, it’s a scale from 0-6 which basically says how sexual you are. 0 is totally heterosexual and 6 is totally homosexual. I think there are probably people who are lower on the scale who are kind of experimenting with homosexuality or are bi, maybe, and those are the kinds of people who can go to JONAH or therapy and get turned straight. That’s why it works for some people.” His voice was calm, measured. He presented his ideas clearly. “See, but I think that I’m probably a 5 or 6- totally homosexual. That’s why there’s no hope for me. For me, it’s not about a choice; it’s biological. I did not choose my sexual orientation. There’s nothing here that smacks of a choice. This is what I am, who I am. There is honestly nothing I feel I can do about it.”

Questions whirled in Lisa’s mind. If what Jason was saying was true, how could God have expected that people fight such a powerful desire, the urge to be with someone and to not be alone? Was that a reasonable expectation? Was it fair? She knew that she herself could not willfully choose to lead her life alone, watching her friends get married and build families while dying a little every day.

A story from Rabbi Aaron Rakeffet-Rothkoff came to mind, however. “There once was a man,” he had stated, “who was a mamzer.” Were this man to have children, by default those children would be mamzerim and therefore this individual chose to do the superhuman thing and to refrain from marrying anyone, much as he might have desired sex or a loving relationship with another person. Surely if that man could do it, Jason could do it, too?

But how would I know what Jason can or cannot do? she reasoned. Even if it is supposedly within his power on some superhuman scale, with some impossible effort, who can demand it of him? The only one who can demand that is God and I am not God, she thought. Besides, this is the essence of Jason; this is who he truly is as a person. How can God desire us to renounce what we truly are, the essence of ourselves?

Or is it that we are more than our sexuality, she thought, trying to make sense of it in a way that made sense to her. She could not find the words.

“It would be easier for you if you were not Orthodox,” she stated.

“It would be,” he nodded in agreement. “But that’s not what I believe. I believe in Orthodox Judaism and in God; I just can’t do it. I can’t do what God wants of me. In this way, I have failed.”

Tears touched her eyes.

“Does anyone else know?” she questioned.

“A couple of people,” he stated. “When my mother found out, she did not speak to me for 8 months. Imagine that, Lisa. Eight months during which your mother doesn’t speak to you, won’t look at you, sees you as an embarrassment, something to be ashamed of. She was totally disgusted by me. This is, after all, called an abomination in the Torah.”

Lisa lowered her eyes. “I know,” she said. “Although that’s not quite what it means- and people make much of it- the word to’evah shows up in different places, too and everyone fails to account for that.”

“Right,” he said, her eyes still not meeting hers.

“Can I ask you some personal questions? I mean, just because I want to know- but if they are too personal, then please don’t answer them.”

“Sure,” he said. “I trust you, Lisa. I trust you with my life.”

This was literally true. If she told anyone about this she could easily get him fired once he achieved semikha. Who would want to hire a homosexual rabbi? Who would want anything to do with him? His path was difficult and she felt the pain knock her over, ratcheting through her body until she felt that she might become physically ill.

“What do you do about mikvah?” she questioned.

“I don’t go. I can’t go. If people ask me to, I just say that I’ve already dipped.” He shrugged his shoulders.

“Wow,” she said softly, not knowing what else to say.

“I walk a lonely road,” he stated wryly, citing ‘Boulevard of Broken Dreams.’

“I wish, with all my heart, that there was something I could do for you.” She felt an overwhelming urge to help him, save him, somehow fix things for him so that he could be who he truly was without forfeiting the love of those who would judge him and earn the judgment of God.

“I know, Lisa, and just knowing that helps me,” he told her.

“What can I do?” she questioned him.

“You can just be there,” he told her. “Be there and listen.”

“Okay,” she said, and the word was a promise written in her heart.

*
Jason had returned to yeshiva; he had to commence studying. Lisa returned to her home, her thoughts roiling. She didn’t know what to think, what to say. She felt honored that Jason had trusted her but a darkness flooded her. This was yet another confrontation that she was meant to have with the Almighty. She was close to Him; God was a part of her life in a tangible way. She spoke to Him, loved Him and shouted at Him. God was her father and she was his child. After eating dinner with her family and giving a falsely cheerful account of her day, she slipped beneath the covers of her bed.

“Dear God,” she began praying aloud.

“This is your daughter, Lisa Sapir. I wanted to talk to you about my friend Jason. My friend Jason who is homosexual. My friend who has suffered from diagnosed depression, who was suicidal, who did everything in the world in order to change for you. The one who wants to marry a girl and make her happy and be happy himself. That Jason. The Jason who is homosexual and fights himself in order not to act on that.

“But why should he have to fight himself? Why did you make this law?” She was crying by then, the tears streaking her face. “I don’t understand, God. I went to look it up. Leviticus 18:22. It’s there in black and white. And then, ‘for whosoever shall do any of these abominations, even the souls that do them shall be cut off from among their people.’ That’s kareis, God! That’s the worst punishment in the entire Torah, where either you die young or your children die young or your soul is cut off forever, unable to enter before Your divine light. And is that how you would punish him? Is that what you would do? But why? He’s a good person, God. He’s the best person! I’ve watched him on various committees; I’ve seen him. He’s helped me- he’s been kind to me- he’s been my best friend.” She could hardly speak; her throat was so clogged with tears. “What do you want him to do? Can you really condemn him to a life alone? Is that really what he must do in order to earn your love?”

She paused for a moment, running her fingers through her hair. She stroked her own cheek, wanting to touch skin that was warm for her fingers were cold; her whole body had seized up. “But that is cruel, God, cruel! I know that we must surrender to you. I know that we exist in order to do Your will. And I wish that my will were in accordance to yours, but it can’t be- it can’t be! How am I supposed to look at him and understand? What do you want me to do, God? What should I pray for? I just want him to be happy…and I don’t want him to lose his soul. I don’t want him to be cut off from You.”

She had a strong desire to protect those she loved, whether it was from physical or divine punishment. She loved Jason; he was her friend and confidante and more. He had helped so many and would doubtless help so many more. “What am I to do?” she whispered, pleading before God. “Tell me what to say.”

She tossed and turned in the bed, unable to think. She wanted to find the words, to undo God’s law. Her heart was raw and bleeding. She believed in God’s will but it hurt her to believe. Once more, she laughed in her heart at the idea that religion was a panacea. Religion was the absolute hardest thing she had ever done; it was difficult, at times insurmountable. Her strongest desire was to push aside the law in favor of human emotion. When it came to the children of God and God Himself, it was his children whom she desired to help and to comfort. It was Jason that she loved…but she believed in God’s word.

*

“What?” she stated aloud, poring over the text in the Beit Midrash. It was Igrot Moshe, Orach Chaim, Part 4, Responsa 115. R’ Moshe Feinstein had written about homosexuality and stated that there was no purpose for the homosexual drive- after all, the act does not create children- therefore, it is not a true drive. This means that the true reason for fulfilling one’s desires as a homosexual is to rebel against God. One wishes to taste of the forbidden.

But I know Jason, Lisa thought, and the words did not fit her image of him. He was a good person, kind to others, reaching out to them. Could such a person be one who willfully desired to rebel against God? If he lacked the strength to refrain from sinning with another man, did that of necessity mean that he had truly rebelled?

All I know is that I could never hurt him, Lisa thought. Homosexuality was categorized under arayos, sins punishable by the death penalty. I could never have any part of a court that would sentence him to death for this, Lisa thought to herself, her head shaking. But she knew that this was because of her exposure to Western morality and Western morals. Her morals no longer came from the Torah; they were not pure in the same way that some of the more fundamentalist Haredi models could be seen as being pure. Her morals were murky and entertwined with the values she had been taught due to her society. Loving people and tolerating them was something that she valued; she found it extremely difficult to accept the Torah’s rendering of these laws. How could R’ Feinstein possibly think that someone like her Jason simply desired to rebel?

“It’s not that simple,” she said under her breath. “It just can’t be. There has to be a way- there has to be!” She was angry, searching; she wanted to find a way to legitimize her point of view within her religion. But there was no way. And what was worse, people would not see Jason as simply a man committing a sin but as an entity- a man who lived a life of sin. He would be condemned to separation from the community, to a kind of ostracism that killed her to envision.

“I wish that I could grant him strength,” she thought. “I wish that I could make it so that he didn’t do this, that he could live alone. I believe it is a sin and therefore I cannot wish for him to sin. But at the same time, I want him to be happy. What comes first? His happiness or God’s word?”

She had puzzled over this question for quite some time, trying to find an answer, a resolution that would solve the problem totally.

“I cannot, I cannot!” she felt like shouting out to the world at large. It is unfair, God, she thought to herself. You cannot make me. It kills me to allow your word supremacy and yet I believe it to be true. But I want, I so want for him to be happy. What should I do? What should I pray for? What should I ask for? I want him to be happy…can’t there be a way?

*

He was glowing with pleasure. “There’s this guy,” he began, turning to her a little awkwardly.

“Oh!” she said with a sharp intake of breath.

“Yeah. So I’m going to go out with him. I’m actually totally thrilled about how this worked out. As you know, I’m going to be interning with a community as an assistant rabbi during the course of completing my semikha. Happens to be that this guy actually lives in the community. So it’s perfect.”

“I’m so happy for you,” she said before she could recall the words. But was she really? On the one hand, she was happy for him- she couldn’t possibly be happier. On the other hand, what if he were to break God’s law? What then?

“You know,” he told her, “I personally plan to keep to the exact letter of the law. I think then maybe I can make it kind of okay before God.”

“How do you mean?” she questioned.

“It’s anal sex that the Torah forbids,” he said. “Not making out or touching or mutual masturbation or oral sex or anything like that.”

Well, masturbation would be forbidden under a different law, she thought, but said nothing.

“So I figure I’ll keep to the letter of the law and just not have anal sex.” He looked up at her, his eyes a mixture of bravado and desperation.

“I’m sure God will appreciate everything you do to serve Him,” she stated.

“Yeah,” he said, walking along. He had been so exuberant, but thoughts flooded her mind. What if, at some point, he got married to another man? Could she attend that wedding? She would want to- there was no question of that- but could she actually do so? For one thing, her parents would not be happy with that. And that was aside from whether she could truly celebrate a wedding between two men before God.

But God, don’t you see?, she pleaded silently. Look at him! He was depressed, miserable, suicidal; he did everything he could for you. You can’t say he didn’t try! And now he wants to find happiness however he can with this man…can’t you forgive that? Can you please try? She spoke to God as though she were Jason’s defense attorney, trying to find reasons to make him not guilty in the Creator’s eyes.

“I’m really happy for you,” she told Jason, and she was, whether it was wrong or right to be so. But she also worried for him, because what if that community found out? What if he became a rabbi but couldn’t get a position anywhere, was shunned by the Orthodox? Homosexuality is a public lifestyle and a public sin; it cannot really be kept quiet. If two men live together past a certain age…can they really claim just to be roommates?

Anxiety and worry danced together in her eyes. “I love you,” she said, as though to make it true. She hoped she would never have to choose between him and God.

*
“Fucking liar!”

“He was in our dorm. A fag in our dorm!”

“Fairy.”

The words were stated with disgust. Rather than being compassionate or kind, the students were immature, currently following Jason as he walked slowly out of his dorm room, a backpack slung over his shoulders.

“Can you imagine? A gay guy in our dorm?”

Lisa ran up to him, her eyes roving over his body to assess for bruises. “You’re bleeding,” she said, pointing to a cut on his cheek.

His eyes were bitter; he said nothing.

“You’re friends with the fag?” one of the men casually asked her.

She turned to him, her eyes blazing. “You know what faggot means?” she said, her eyes blazing. “Oh, I know you know the definition and connotation it has nowadays,” she spat, “but it used to mean something else. A piece of wood. A piece of wood on an altar, placed there as a sacrifice for God.

“You call him a faggot because he’s gay. I don’t know how you found out. I don’t really care. But if you’re going to refer to him as that, you should give it the true meaning of the word. You know who he is and what he has done? Do you know how many years he’s held off on pursuing his desires- he still hasn’t done anything; he is still pure, now, as we speak! The Rav talks about that. In ‘Redemption, Prayer, Talmud Torah. You know what he writes?”

She was angry and her anger burned in her eyes, her face; her whole complexion was lit up with the heat of it.

“Yet there is another aspect to prayer: prayer is an act of giving away. Prayer means sacrifice, unrestricted offering of the whole self, the returning to God of body and soul, everything one possesses and cherishes. There is an altar in heaven upon which the archangel Michael offers the souls of the righteous. Thrice daily we petition God to accept our prayers, as well as the fires- the self-sacrifices of Israel- on that altar (v’eishei yisrael u’tefilasam b’ahavah tikabel b’ratzon.) Prayer is rooted in the idea that man belongs, not to himself, but that God claims man, and that His claim to man is not partial but total. God, the Almighty, sometimes wills man to place himself, like Isaac of old, on the altar, to light the fire and to be consumed as a burn offering. Does not the story of the Akeidah tell us about the great, awesome drama of man giving himself away to God. Of course Judaism is vehemently opposed to human sacrifice. The Bible speaks with indignation and disdain of child sacrifice; physical human sacrifice was declared abominable. Yet the idea that man belongs to God, without qualification, and that God, from time to time, makes a demand upon man to return what is God’s to God is an important principle in Judaism. God claimed Moses’ life: He demanded the return of body and soul without permitting him to cross the Jordan. Moses complied, and willingly died the “Death by Kiss.” God claimed Isaac and Abraham gave Isaac away. What does prayer mean in the light of all this? The restoration of God’s ownership rights, which are absolute, over everything He owns. The call:

“Take thy son, thy only son, whom you love so much..and bring him as a burnt offering” is addressed to all men. In response to this call, man engages in prayer, as sacrifical performance.

“A new equation emerges: prayer equals sacrifice. Initially, prayer helps man discover himself, through understanding and affirmation of his need-awareness. Once the task of self-discovery is fulfilled, man is summoned to ascend the altar and return everything he has just acquired to God. Man who was told to create himself, objectify himself, and gain independence and freedom for himself, must return everything he considers his own to God.”

“You call him a faggot because of what he is. But you should think of what that means in the traditional sense of the term. He is a firebrand, wood placed upon the altar. He was created to sacrifice. To give up everything that he is and that he has wanted. And he has given it, these past years. He has given up everything! He tried to change himself, tried to accept God’s authority over himself, showed the utmost restraint. He’s dated girls- he’s done everything. You have no idea what he has suffered, who he is as a person. Most of you are nothing in comparison to him.

“Do you feel strong, belittling him? Where is your compassion, your kindness, your understanding? Do you have any? Have you squandered it all on your own transgressions, so that you have none left over for anyone else?”

She placed her hands on her hips, her blonde curls blowing in the wind.

“Yes, he’s a faggot, but he’s a faggot of wood on God’s altar. He’s been offered up, burned alive on that altar. And so far he has done nothing. And maybe he will be able to remain that way, to do nothing, to offer up his whole life to God. Unfortunately, that’s what I have to pray for. But maybe he won’t. And if he doesn’t, I have no right to judge him. Nor do you. Because I have no idea what it is like for him. I have no idea what hell he goes through every day. I can’t fathom the amount of self-restraint he exercises and I don’t have the words for the pain that he has suffered.”

They stood before her, unmoved. Perhaps they were ashamed, but if so, they didn’t show it. She was disgusted by them.

“Come on, Jason,” she said. “Let’s go.”

He shot them a glance, then walked with her slowly. Tears crept to the corner of his eyes. Her heart beat erratically within her.

“It’s not fair, God,” she cried out, an angry girl shouting at a Being so much more powerful than she. Her blonde curls dancing in the wind, framed by surroundings of brick and stone, the Batei Midrash and the streets outside the yeshiva, she defied Him. “Job said that he was sorry for frail man, for afer v’efer, and so am I, God! So am I!”

And then she sunk to her knees and wept. For no matter how much she defied Him, He still ruled over her and everything she held dear. Jason knelt beside her.

“It is enough, Lisa,” he said, and there was kindness in his eyes. He had not meant to make her choose. He had not meant to hurt her. “He is my God, too.”

Possession (The Art of Roses)

A story

Disclaimer: This is a story for adults (as all my stories are.) If sexuality or sensuality disturbs you, this is not for you.

~

“Remember, nothing cheap or tawdry,” the man in the black raincoat stated, staring down his beaked hawk-like nose at the lackey. “I pay you to be discreet.”

“Of course, my lord,” the servant affirmed. He was dressed in alarmingly foppish clothes, scarves fluttering prettily about his butterfly wrists.

The man in the black raincoat was distinguished, his hair silvering at the temples. He looked wary. Under his arm rested a cadeau of the sort that Rochester’s Adele would have admired. He seemed to be the sort of distinguished lord who kept an appropriately handsome wife, two lovely children who could be brought out at tea time and shown off to the nobles, and suffered through dinner parties. This assignation seemed most peculiar.

“I trust you with my very soul,” the lord reminded the servant. “Worse, actually,” he informed him, flashing a grin. “With my reputation.”

*

She ran through him the way that butter melts on bread. Thin, indivisible from the grainy slices, merging, a melding that cannot be undone. She coursed through his veins and danced in his heart and he swept up her hair and let it trickle over his wrists and hands so that it caught him, entwining. The tendrils of her hair were one with the locket of his heart and he loved her softly, so that she moaned quietly. Their passion was a silent endeavor; she slept in silence and dined on strawberries in the middle of the night. Champagne and strawberries was the only fare for such as they, outcasts of the night. She was the fire darkly burning, quicksilver threads of silver shot through with the heretical fantasies of youth. She was his indulgence and more than that, his only point of pride. Without her, he had nothing.

*

They lay on the bed, his arms curled underneath her head. Red tendrils of hair tickled his nose and swept across his bare chest; he crooked his arm around her to bring her closer to him. “You are exquisite,” he told her. She snuggled closer to him.

He had created this code with the servant; when he desired something that was neither cheap nor tawdry he meant Aris. Aris with her silkened skin and red curls that tumbled around him, capturing him entirely. He knew that she was loyal to him. He had once been loyal to her.

Then he had been told he was to be married. He had brought her to his house and made love to her with a desperation she could easily sense. She did not know what was wrong. “You can barely look at me,” she had stated.

“I’m to be married,” he said.

She shrugged, as though to suggest the information did not hurt her, but he saw the flash of pain in her eyes. “Does it matter?” she asked.

To me, he wanted to tell her. It does matter, to me. He answered her, “I suppose not.” She bent her head, her flaming hair wantonly displayed upon the pillow. He stroked the long strands of clinging fire, curled them around his fingers. Then, he lifted her head, cupping her chin. Tears swam in her eyes.

“I am so sorry,” he told her, bringing her head to his chest, crushing her against his body. He rocked her as he would a small child. “So sorry, so sorry, Aris, my dear.” Her sobs were quiet; she would not utter a word. Whatever pain she had, she suffered in silence.

*

It was the little girl that ruined her. His wife he respected; it was the child that he loved. She watched him fade away, looking at his watch, staring at his briefcase, thinking of the child who awaited his presence at home. It was the watching, standing on the sidelines of his life and seeing as he grew to love someone else, that was unbearable. But she preferred to have a piece of his heart even if she could not have him in his entirety. So she offered him her body and swam with him, retreating to the milky shores of beautiful oblivion.

*

Aris was no longer very beautiful. She had taken on another profession; she had become a miner. Some men and children slaved over the coal mines, watching the canaries die and scuttling about, blackened with soot, searching for the valued ore. Aris searched the hidden territory of the soul. She mined the blackest and deepest voids, searching for chips of the soul, looking for the heart. She loved him still and searched for the glittering chips of his heart, the ones that belonged to her. And she still came to him.

“Aris,” he would sigh, and wrap his arms around her, her body molding familiarly to his. She kissed his eyes and nose and the hollow of his throat, trailing her fingers across his chest as though rippling them through lapping water. She watched him arch in response to her touch, saw his eyes glaze over, dim, then darken.

His voice would catch in his throat. “I love you,” he would say, the words hoarse and seemingly meaningless. After all, what of his wife, his child, his lands? But to her they were not meaningless. In them, she identified a chip of his soul.

*

“Touch me,” she demanded.

He sighed. He was weary. His wife was unhappy and the child, now grown, wished for nothing but fripperies and follies and jewel-encrusted gowns. He did not want Aris to express her ownership over him; he merely wanted to find release with her.

“You exist for my pleasure,” he answered mildly.

She stiffened. He did not try to apologize. He was the master and she a mere courtesan. She made her living amidst the pillows of the night; she had no status, no name, no occupation. What did the loyalty of a prostitute matter? What honor could be upheld by a common whore? He laughed at her and turned her beneath him. Her lips were soft beneath his. She did not fight him.

*

“Tell me that you love me,” he stated. He meant it as a request; she saw it as a demand.

She stood. She was glorious nude, her hair tumbling down her back in fiery red streaks. “You are late,” she stated.

“What is this; you think I care that you won’t say it?” he teased her. He walked over to her, placed his hands upon her shoulders, kneaded at the muscles beneath them. He looked at her in the mirror; his eyes met hers. An extraordinary expression crossed her face; he was hard-put when it came to identifying it. Suddenly, a strange smile crossed her face.

“Yes,” she said very softly.

He laughed lightly. “I care nothing for the words of a prostitute,” he stated, placing his hand upon her breast. He cupped her nipple, tweaked it. She gave a slight, sharp sigh. As though surrendering to him, she eased her body against him gently, her head upon his shoulder. He spun her around to face him, then kissed her harshly. She made no protest. The most peculiar light danced in her eyes.

*

The flowers were torn as he walked to the bed.

He had always thought this was the way she would do it. The rose petals were ripped; it was a reverse wedding. She had dashed them against the ground, completely torn them up. As he walked through the door, he saw the blood against the silk sheets, the red driblets against the satin. There was something erotic, even arousing, about that. He moved closer and saw her face; it was pale in death, but there was a touch of red to the lips. Ah, vanity, he thought. Even here it finds her.

Her arm was limp and fair, her hand lifeless. But he noticed the rose she had tied to one beautiful wrist; the other rose she wore around her throat. The trickle of blood that crept down her neck was deliberate; she had pierced herself, as though by a thorn. It was artistic in an exceptionally beautiful, sickening way. He was fascinated by the beauty, by how carefully she had orchestrated this death, this scene.

He knelt by the bed, careful not to disturb the careful arrangement of the torn rose petals. She had not allowed anyone a claim upon her; here she was entirely at rest, entirely at peace. He pressed his lips against hers; his reddened with the kiss. She tasted sweet, like cherries; so it was not only blood that outlined her lips. He smiled at her.

She had won this part of the game, but she had far underestimated him. She assumed that he would be impressed by her victory, but in truth, he had expected it, anticipated it. He had come home slavering, his mouth salivating, for he knew how tantalizing the scene would be, how beautifully perfect. There was something in him that hungered for this, for the unabashed violence of it, the sexuality with which she was able to imbue everything.

Just the image was enough. Nothing else was necessary.

But in his mind, whenever he felt desire, this was what came to mind, the pale face, the touch of red, the scent of roses, their fragrance rising from her throat and wrist; the desire she had imagined for him, the one she believed would torment him. In truth, she seduced him far more in her death than she had in her life. In the war between sorceress and seducer, he had thought himself triumphant.

But she had captured him, made him entirely hers, in this death. Now, every time he felt unslaked lust, it was her wrist against which he desired to press his lips, her throat he longed for, the inner crevice of her arm that he wanted to taste. Here, with her rose petals and evocative delicacy, she had made him hers, and he, once triumphant, knelt before her, cognizant of how wholly the master was made a servant.

To taste her…that is what he longed for, and suddenly he thought the scent of crushed roses would drive him mad, overwhelm him, and he forced himself to overcome his mad desire, to walk slowly out of the room, to turn on his heel and order the maid to “Clean that thing up.”

The maid obliged him by bowing, at which point he walked steadily to his room. Rather than attending to bed, however, he doffed his top-hat, correctly unbuttoned his shirt, then, still wearing his trousers, laid down upon the bed. Almost unconsciously, he closed his eyes and imagined her. The scent of roses filled the room…

He could not sleep that night. She woke the fire in his blood, her carefully positioned body had seen to that. His thoughts were not his own; she blazed through all of them. Unseeing, he felt her, as though she were there with him, and aroused, he reached for her…but she was shadow. Less than mist, unsubstantial as the wind, she taunted him, mocking him mercilessly, dancing through his thoughts, having won her final victory; in her death, she had made him want her. The woman he had humiliated and thrown aside had burned herself into his mind; he would never touch another woman without touching her, kiss a woman without feeling the imprint of her lips against his tongue, and through it all he would hear her laughter…taunting, merciless, yet pretty as a child’s, tinkling bells running through his mind. He would try to grasp the intangible to him.

And as he lay with those women, pinned them down so that they gasped, took more than they thought they could give, ran his fingers across their shoulders, over their skin, touching so as to take, he would hear her mockery, and know that it was no use. He forbade any woman to wear rose-scented perfume, and yet he smelled roses everywhere. He saw the rose petals in his mind and felt his naked desire increase; he was sworn to her. That bed was their marriage canopy, the blood spilled was that of her virginity. The roses by her wrist and throat pledged her to him. The cherry taste of her lips called to him. He could find no release; there was no repentance. And so damned, he writhed, his body on fire and called to her. In dreams, he felt the prick of the thorn across his throat. Blood trickled down the crevice of his neck. “Kiss me like this,” she breathed and he watched her lick away the blood, first from his mouth, then his nipples, his armpits, and finally his wrists. He surrendered to her and she hurt him to seal the fact that he was hers. But then, laughing madly, she danced away, and he awoke to nothingness, cursing her memory, and wanting her.